


Fire Alarm (Phan)

by franks_lipring



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 17:09:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4674713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/franks_lipring/pseuds/franks_lipring
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the following prompt, linked in the author's note: <br/>someone needs to write a ‘the fire alarm went off at 3 am and now the cute guy from the flat next door is standing next to me in his underwear’ AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire Alarm (Phan)

**Author's Note:**

> link to the prompt used is here:http://deers.co.vu/post/100647291186/iggycat-someone-needs-to-write-a-the-fire  
> hope you enjoy! i've never written a kiss before so sorry if it was a bit awkward.

Phil was shocked awake by a loud, electronic-sounding keening. He lay staring at the ceiling for a few seconds, frowning in confusion as he wondered why he'd been pulled from his cheese hellscape dream so violently. Eventually something in his brain shifted, like gears grinding to movement. The fucking fire alarm. He groaned before stretching, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of his bed. He rolled his eyes as the screeching alarm carried on, making his ears ring and a headache begin to bloom in the back of his skull. Phil's feet, clad in green and red socks, padded softly across the carpet of his room to his bedroom door and through his little London apartment. He dragged his blanket with him; he was far too tired to worry about the intricacies of coat buttons and zippers at the current moment.

As he descended the stairs, pulling the blanket around his shoulders, other inhabitants and their families shuffled out, the kids wrapped in duvets and the adults hastily donning dressing gowns and jackets. Phil scrunched up his face as he stepped outside and the cold air assaulted him. Why did this crap always happen when it was cold?

The air smelled sharp and almost sweet as Phil stood on the edge of his blanket in an effort to avoid soaking his socks on the wet pavement - he'd forgotten to put on some shoes, a feat he felt was surely worthy of some award for scatterbrained-ness. Did those exist? He'd have to Google it. He was just admiring the aesthetic qualities of the puddles, with their starry reflections of light, when he started catching pieces of a hushed but violent conversation between the landlord, Jeremy, and Phil's next-door neighbour. He couldn't remember his name. David? Winston? Phil giggled at 'Winston'; was that even a name anymore?

The neighbour, who from what Phil could see was dressed in only a pair of boxers and some fucking studded Converse, looked very awkward and slightly distressed as the landlord continued to whisper-shout at him; he seemed to want to crawl into a hole and disappear. Phil guessed that he'd caused the alarm to go off, which would cost the landlord a slightly hefty false-alarm fine from the fire brigade, as the alarm had already automatically summoned them - he could hear the sirens. Phil had been there before, and it wasn't nice. As he neared the pair to intervene, the scathing words of the landlord became clear.

"How the fuck did you burn  _boiled water_?"

"I-I don't know, I just forgot about it! It evaporated a-and then the saucepan started smoking..."

The neighbour trailed off, cheeks burning. He almost looked close to tears as the landlord continued to glare angrily at him. As the landlord opened his mouth to reprimand Mr Next-Door again, Phil stepped into their line of sight.

"Uhm, Jeremy, it's alright. At least there was no damage..."

He took the neighbour by his upper arm and pulled him away from the still frothing-at-the-mouth landlord.

As David/Winston/Other turned to smile gratefully at him, Phil couldn't help noticing how attractive he was. The smile lit up his face, crinkling his dark eyes and accentuating his dimple, the lopsided grin making him all the more endearing. His torso, exposed to the freezing air, was lightly tanned, soft, and covered in goosebumps. Phil spared a glance to his boxers, which, to his utmost amusement, were decorated with the many expressions of Pepe the fucking Frog. As he let out an incredulous snort, the neighbour blushed even more. Realising he had just snorted at a stranger's junk, Phil's eyes snapped back up. He giggled and blushed too. God, why was he acting like a teenager with a crush? Phil decided he'd been calling this adorable guy "the neighbour" far too long, and fixated his gaze on a square of the rain-slicked pavement between his feet.

"So, um, what's your name?" he asked nonchalantly.

"It's, uh, it's Dan."

He couldn't help blushing more. It was weird.

Phil grinned at Dan and told him his name.

They stood staring at the glistening road for a while longer, listening to the increasingly-loud sirens of the fire trucks. Finally Dan let out a cloudy puff of air and crossed his arms tighter across his bare chest. Mentally, Phil smacked himself upside the head as he exclaimed:

"Oh, crap! You must be freezing, have my blanket!"

Dan tried to refuse, but a look from Phil silenced him and he took the blanket, pulling it around his shoulders with a sigh of comfort. Phil pulled the sleeves of his Pokémon pyjama shirt over his hands and tilted his head back, wishing they could just go back inside.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by a nudge from Dan.

"Hey, uh, I know a coffee shop that opens around 4am, it should be starting up right about now... D'you fancy getting out of the cold?"

Phil flashed a grin in response and they set off down the darkened road towards a warm, glowy light a few hundred meters away. As they walked, their shoulders and elbows brushed occasionally. When this happened, they both apologised, but neither attempted to widen the gap between them. Their hands dangled close together, not touching, but almost. Almost.

They both groaned in relief as they pushed open the door to the coffee shop, the little bell like a herald of warmth and good coffee smell. The barista looked up, eyebrows in his hairline, as the two grown-ass men - one clad in Pokémon pyjamas and the other nothing but some weird-ass shoes, frog boxers and a blanket - entered his place of employment. He opened his mouth to say something before shrugging and asking them what they wanted to drink. Dan ordered a caramel-infused, sugar-pumped monstrosity and asked for 'a shit-ton of milk', while Phil quietly requested 'just plain instant with sugar, please'.

By mutual agreement, Dan and Phil headed towards a booth in the corner of the coffee shop, Dan sitting against the wall with Phil next to him. Instead of ringing the bell when their coffees were ready, the barista carried them out to their table.

"You guys enjoy!" he said, a smirk on his face as his eyes scanned over their touching legs and shoulders.

As the barista walked away and disappeared into the kitchen, Phil let out an amused chuckle.

"What?" asked Dan, looking around at Phil and taking a sip of his awful franken-coffee.

"Oh, nothing. Just, when I saw you tonight, I was trying to guess your name, and for some reason my brain produced 'Winston'. I suppose you  _kind_ of look like a Winston."

Dan snorted into his mug, turning to Phil with an amused gleam in his eye, his dimple made apparent as he grinned. " _Winston?!_ "

"Yeah! It's in your eyes."

They continued this for a while, playful back-and-forth teasing as though they'd been friends for years. Phil took a sip of his second coffee. He turned his head to look at Dan, ready for more sick bants, when he caught Dan staring at him, his eyes soft and warm, almost... lovingly? Phil felt his eyes move down to stare at Dan's lips, cracked and pink. He reached out and interlaced their fingers. Dan's skin against his was sending little  _zing_ s through his body, and he knew that this entire night was incredibly cliché, and he knew that it was cliché to know it was cliché. Except now Phil had forgotten that the word cliché had a meaning, and why it mattered. Did it matter? No. Phil leaned forward and kissed Dan, kissed the boy that hours earlier had been his nameless next-door neighbour.

The kiss wasn't particularly passionate; there was no heat, no sexual tension. It was sweet, and soft, and when Dan's lips parted, their tongues met like they were made to. Phil smiled into the kiss, and then ended it gently. He leaned back to look Dan in the eyes, and he smiled back.

Dan shifted himself in his seat until his back was against the wall. Then he opened the blanket enough for Phil to slip in between the back of the booth seat and Dan's torso before pulling it back around the both of them. Phil leaned his head against Dan's warm shoulder, suddenly feeling the effects of being rudely awoken at 3:30am after having gone to bed two hours before that. He snuggled deeper into the blanket, feeling Dan's hair tickle his nose. He closed his eyes contentedly and felt a kiss pressed to his temple as he drifted off into swirly dreams of streetlights and warm kisses.

Hours later, the barista stood before the cuddly, fluffy mess that was Dan and Phil, unsure of whether or not to kick them out. People were starting to come in for their 7am-coffee-before-work, and they were getting looks. Suddenly, the dark-haired one stirred, his lanky legs stretching out over the edge of the booth. He let out a sigh of deep contentment, and the barista found he didn't have the heart to wake either of them.


End file.
